I said to my little family, one morning, a few weeks
before the Chicago fire, "I am coming home this afternoon to give you a
ride." My little boy clapped his hands. "O papa, will you take me to
see the bears in Lincoln park?" "Yes." You know boys are very
fond of seeing bears. I had not been gone long when my little boy said, Mamma, I
wish you would get me ready." "O," she said, "it will be a
long time before your papa comes." "But I want to get ready,
mamma." At last he was ready to have the ride, face washed, and clothes all
nice and clean. "Now, you must take good care and not get yourself dirty
again," said mamma. O, of course he was going to take care; he wasn't going
to get dirty. So off he ran to watch for me. However, it was a long time yet
until the afternoon, and after a little he began to play. When I got home, I
found him outside, with his face all covered with dirt. "I can't take you
to the park that way, Willie." "Why, papa, you said you would take
me." "Ah, but I can't; you're all over mud. I couldn't be seen with
such a dirty little boy." "Why, I's clean, papa; mamma washed
me." "Well, you've got dirty since." But he began to cry, and I
could not convince him that he was dirty. "I's clean; mamma washed
me!" he cried. Do you think I argued with him? No. I just took him up in my
arms, and carried him into the house, and showed him his face in the
looking-glass. He had not a word to say. He could not take my word for it; but
one look at the glass was enough; he saw it for himself. He didn't say he wasn't
dirty after that!

Now, the looking-glass showed him that his face was dirty,
but I did not take the looking-glass to wash it; of course not. Yet that
is just what thousands of people do. The law is the looking-glass to see
ourselves in, to show us how vile and worthless we are in the sight of God; but
they take the law and try to wash themselves with it.